


Guardians Oneshots

by Paranoid_Pug



Category: The Royal Guardians (original series)
Genre: Action, An original series I am working on, Fantasy, Original Characters - Freeform, Short Stories, Story Collection, The Royal Guardians, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Pug/pseuds/Paranoid_Pug
Summary: A collection of short stories set in the Royal Guardians universe, an original fantasy series. These stories sit on their own, so you don't have to have read the series or know the characters.





	1. An Impossible Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mendax has a decision to make.

Mendax's breath caught in his throat. The rooftop slates were cold beneath him and his neck was stiff from his uncomfortable position.

"Your target's name is Martin Kelly. He will be at this location at this time, on this date. That is all you need to know." The man handed him a folder with the information on his mark, which Mendax took with shaking hands. "You know what happens if you don't come through on this," the man had said, the unforgiving darkness in his eyes enough to provide Mendax with an answer.

He'd been perched on this roof for hours, watching the darkness slowly settle over the city buildings. He didn't know who this 'Martin Kelly' was, or what he had done to upset the boss, only that he had a choice to make, and fast. Either way, he knew, his life would end. There was no going back.

He checked his watch and let the minutes tick away slowly. Reluctantly, he raised his eye to his rifle's sights and steadied his shaking hands. The metallic clicks echoed in his ears as he checked each rifle part, adrenaline and fear bubbling inside him.

Mendax was a name he had earned. It had been so long since anyone had called him anything else, he'd forgotten what his name used to be. 'Liar', it meant. Maybe that's how he'd ended up with the Mob: He'd always had a knack for getting into trouble.

His target appeared, oblivious to his rooftop stalker. Mendax tensed, his rifle aimed and finger on trigger. The man chatted freely on his phone, his kind, rich-toned voice carrying through the lamp-lit streets and up onto the roof where Mendax lay in wait.

"I'll be home soon honey, I just finished at the office. How's little Betty going? Did she finish all her veggies?"

Mendax froze as his target stepped into his cross-hairs. His finger tightened on the trigger, yet he could not bring himself to squeeze.

What was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he'd never killed before, but those men had been villains, rascals, criminals. This was different, somehow. This man had a family – people who would miss him, people who cared.

But if Mendax failed to follow through, well, he was a dead man too.

Closing his eyes, Mendax took a deep breath, and made his decision.

*

"Is it done?" the man asked, his intimidating bulk looming over Mendax's scrawny frame. When Mendax hesitated, he asked again; "Did you do it?"

Mendax thought back to that moment on the rooftop, an innocent man in his cross-hairs and his own life on the line. Either way, he would regret the decision he made, yet it had to be made anyway. As he hesitated, far longer than any professional should, Mendax wondered which was worth more; His humanity, or his life.

And so, as the mob boss stared him down with threatening eyes, Mendax felt his life slip away from him, and delivered his answer.


	2. Scarred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan has scars. It's been a year since she got them.

Reagan's skin was flecked with scars - thin white lines along her arms and torso that served as a reminder of her experience – only just beginning to fade a year onward. She traced the lines thoughtfully, remembering the coppery tang of the blood in her mouth and the sound of the sirens drowned out by screams. Scars were not uncommon among those in her part of town – the cobbled, winding backstreets of the outer city, where potions and poisons could be exchanged for souls or favours in dark backroom apothecaries, second-hand bookshops dealt in ragged-bound spell-books and wayward teens dabbled in witchcraft in attics and basements. Spells could go awry and both the experienced and naïve alike could find themselves thrown through a window or sporting a third arm.

"I'll have a small black coffee, please." Reagan recited her regular order to the café cashier and slid into her usual corner booth to wait. The barista flashed a smile in greeting, a pair of glistening white fangs briefly catching the light against the rest of his teeth. Reagan waved back, unfazed as she collected her drink and strode out onto the street, past sigils scrawled on alley walls and protective runes carved on doorways. She strolled briskly through the winding labyrinth of open backstreets and lanes, her chunky black combat boots clomping against cobbled pathways and her thick head of dark curls streaming around her face. Reagan impatiently brushed it out of her black-brown eyes and turned into the dark shopfront, the doorbell chiming sharply as she entered.

"Well, well," A young woman with smooth dark skin and a mane of frizzy brown hair emerged from the back room, her eyes glinting with dark amusement. "If it isn't Reagan Nightshade. What can I get you, Rea?"

Her tone was friendly enough, but you had to be careful around Sabine Salem. She may seem generous and hospitable, but underneath she was full of tricks and schemes. The locals knew never to bargain with her or accept any more than what you came to buy, no matter how good she made the deal sound. There was no such thing as a freebie with Sabine; everything came with strings attached.

"I need some dried celosia leaves, a bottle of moon water and some linden flower extract, please" Reagan replied, pulling a list from her bag.

"Brewing another potion, are you?" Sabine grinned, turning to sift through a rack of dried herbs. "You know, I just got in some powdered ginger root the other day. How 'bout I throw that in as well?"

"Come on, Sabine," Reagan warned. "We both know you don't do things for free."

"Worth a try," she shrugged.

Ingredients safely packed in her frayed shoulder bag and coffee cup in hand, Reagan returned to the wide main street of the magic district, the sounds of the heavy city traffic a few streets over drifting through the area's quiet bustle. As she wandered along the cobbled road, a new set of sounds broke sharply through the city rhythms; shouts, jeers and cries. Reagan stopped still in the middle of the road as a line of figures came into view at the intersection between the district and the rest of the city. Instantly she knew; something was very wrong. The jeers echoed off the buildings, reverberating around the street in a cacophony of taunts: Monsters, freaks, beasts. It took only a second for the situation to escalate catastrophically as the gang set upon everyone in sight, screaming anti-witchcraft slogans, smashing windows and striking at the terrified city-goers of the magical district. One of the men hurled something across the street and Reagan unfroze, diving sideways and taking a young werewolf by the waist, dragging him to the ground as a makeshift bottle-bomb exploded where he stood, spraying them both with shards of glass and shrapnel. Reagan heard her potion bottles smash, scattering the ingredients across the road. Her coffee cup spilled across the stones, the dark brown drink pooling among the growing red stains.

The shouts were now drowned out by screams as the gang fanned through the crowds. Smoke filled the air as more fiery blasts were let loose and the quiet street erupted into chaos. A rough hand gripped the back of her head and wrenched Reagan up by her hair.

"Look at me, witch," the man spat, twisting her head painfully so that her dark eyes met his. "We're here to put a stop to you freaks and your unnatural ways. We don't want you in our city, monster."

Reagan yelped and kicked out at her attacker's legs. The man grunted as her foot connected with his shin, releasing his grip on her hair. She scrambled to her feet, her bloodied hands grabbing at the limp form of the young werewolf boy as she tried to pull him out of the way. The man recovered quickly though, and seized the back of her jacket, hauled her backwards and tossed her through a shop window.

The glass shattered around her, slicing through her jacket and embedding itself in her torso. Reagan gasped, tasting the metallic tang of blood in as the glass split her lip. The man advanced, stepping over the ruined shopfront as sirens blared in the distance. The man smiled darkly like a fox cornering his prey, but Reagan refused to be anyone's game. Filled with rage, her eyes flashed a startling silver and fire bubbled through her veins, sending a bright white glow flaring from her fingertips.

"You want a witch?" she hissed, gritting her teeth against the pain. "You've got one."

Her attacker flew backwards through the air, slamming into another of his gang as he skidded onto the street. Another ran towards her, a baseball bat in hand and she flung him backwards as well. Now faced with a legitimate witch instead of the powerless fanatics they were expecting, the rest of the gang fled in cowardice, only to be cornered by the fleet of police cars freshly arrived on the scene. Exhausted and in pain, Reagan collapsed back into the ruins of the shopfront with a sigh.

One year later, Reagan traced her scars as she walked the main street. A collection of flowers had been assembled at the shopfront window, where the young werewolf's blood still stained the stones. Burns still marked the street, but no gangs ever bothered the forbidden district again; This was not where the real monsters dwelled.


End file.
